In The Dark Beside You
by Leraika
Summary: ADOPTED from 'SomethingIDon'tKnow': Tony is kidnapped in a terrible car, tied up by a group of freakishly beautiful people, and introduced to the one man that might just be able to out-narcissist even him. And then things get worse. A Vampire AU. Rating may go up.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello there! **

**Despite being busy with work and another fic, I decided to adopt this amazingly good fic' by SomethingIDontKnow. She is insanely talented and this is her first chapter. All subsequent chapters are mine, hence the shift in style (into something that attempts to honour her beautifully crafted work). **

**Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me. Even the concept of the story wasn't mine. (The exception being future OCs and plot development.)**

**Warnings: Nothing too awful. Violence, swearing and other things considered common to standard vampire activities. **

* * *

It was All Hallows' Eve the night Tony was kidnapped.

There was some kind of irony in that, though from the whispers he could hear from his captors, it was more about rituals and symbolism.

He was slung over the shoulder of one of the group, unable to fight or speak. His first thought was that someone had found Obi's sonic paralytic, but it didn't feel the same. That machine's effect was tight and painful, whereas this time he felt limp and relaxed despite the panic that roiled just beneath his detached analysis.

They carried him down several floors and took the service elevator outside the labs the rest of the way. Surely JARVIS had called for help by now. Surely the Avengers were on their way to save him, right now.

Except they weren't, were they? Clint and Natasha were on a mission on the other side of the planet, Thor was home on Asgard, Bruce had stayed in the Tower but was currently away on a humanitarian trip, and Steve was god knew where. No one was coming. And if they were, it couldn't be soon.

So Tony hung limply over a strange man's shoulder, carried right out of his Tower. No mess, no fuss.

If he was honest, he was a little impressed. Mostly though, he was pissed.

They had a car. A hideous thing from nineteen ninety-something that Tony refused to identify. At least his abductors were nice to him. They didn't even blindfold him until he was propped up comfortably between two fairly tall men. There were four of them in all, three men and a woman. The men were dressed similarly in black jeans and woollen sweaters, while the woman was dressed like a witch straight out of Shakespeare. And their _faces._ All of them were beautiful, fine featured and sickly pale. It was disturbing and intriguing all at the same time.

But when they put a bag over his head he broke the first rule of Abduction 101 by immediately panicking. "Nnnng!" he whined softly, struggling to escape his physical lethargy.

"Hush now," a woman's voice, the brunette in the front passenger seat.

A small hand moved over his cheek in a comforting caress. "Nng b-g," Tony slurred, the fingers of his left hand wrenching a seizure-like twitch. "P-please."

"It's just for a bit," her accent was strange, it seemed to be south-Jersey, but there was something off about it. As if a different accent sat underneath it, distorting the odd syllable. The bag was suddenly tugged up and he was momentarily blinded by a flashlight. Then the woman's gaze met his. "But wouldn't this be better if you slept?"

* * *

Tony woke up on a bed. Not much unusual about that. 'Unusual' was the rush of joy at being able to groan as he woke. His hands were bound behind him in what felt like leather cuffs, wide and thick, they weren't painfully tight but there was no way to escape them either.

They had taken his shoes and socks, but had left him his undershirt and slacks. The arc reactor was still blessedly covered by the shirt and the muffled light was enough to show him part of the room. It was small with peeling paint and windows that were boarded so well that no light shone through them. The sheets under him were coarse cotton; the mattress had creaky steel springs. He turned over and wriggled around, struggling to find a position that didn't hurt his arms.

And then there was possibly the worst part of being kidnapped: the wait.

They had come for him just as he had been dozing off. Tony was used to going a few days without sleep or food, but usually it was when he had something on his mind that refused to be done with him until he was done with it. Left alone with nothing to do, however, Tony found himself hungry and thirsty. Sometime later, the woman and one of the men from the car came into the room, both dressed exactly in the same clothes they'd worn the night before. Tony could see now how tattered the clothes were, patched and ill-tailored. They helped him sit up, taking him by the upper arms with those fine fingered white hands.

"Who are you?" Tony asked softly, looking between them. "What do you want? You know who I am, so what do you expect out of this?"

"We know who you are," the woman conceded. "But these questions are not for us."

"Your leader then?"

"Yes, our Master is the one who asked for you. He said no one else would do."

Master. Great.

"And you're taking me to see him, I assume." Tony asked, testing their grip. No luck there, both were firm but not tight. More perfect things. It was getting annoying.

"We'll wash you first. It's not fitting for a fresh mortal to arrive before the Master so unclean."

Fresh _mortal_? What the fuck was going on?

They rose together, tugging Tony along by the arms. "Well, okay, but can we do without the cuffs?" The man gave him a hard look. "Please, I can wash myself, the reactor and all..." he trailed off, "It needs special attention." Neither captor spoke.

They walked him out of the room and down a long hall, past several closed doors. The place seemed old, reeking of faded grandeur and mothballs. The grand windows at the hall's end were boarded.

"The Master has permitted it, so long as you behave." The woman said suddenly, "He says you will be treated with the utmost respect, so long as you cooperate."

"A little tit for tat," Tony nodded, "I can work with that." Neither smiled.

Just a few doors short of the windows and a set of wide stairs leading down, they stopped. The woman went in and the man hustled Tony through the door. It was starting to feel like a time warp. It was a small vintage bathroom, with a stained porcelain sink and a claw-foot tub. The woman laid out a set of clothes, all black and slightly less patched than their own.

"Owen will stay with you, to make sure you behave. Wash and get dressed, he'll bring you down to the parlour," she said before leaving the room.

"If you try to stall, I'll get you ready myself," the man named Owen growled.

Tony just smirked, "It speaks." Owen only jerked him around by the shoulder, working locks that Tony couldn't feel on his bonds. The cuffs came away and Tony's hands fell limply to his sides. While he worked blood back into his fingers, Owen drew a bath.

Tony was not shy about his body. He knew he looked good and he wasn't afraid to show it off now and then. Stripping at that moment however, with a devastatingly handsome and exceedingly strange man watching intently from across the room, made him feel like it was not one of those times. But he did as he was bid. The water was tepid but deep enough to have a decent wash. Despite the gaze boring into him, Tony did take meticulous care with the reactor. The scars were rippled, horribly ugly and still very delicate. Owen watched him redress before re-cuffing him, taking him roughly by the arm again and leading him away down the hall to the stairs.

The parlour's appearance was, once more, that faded majesty of high ceilings and wood panels. Even the damask furniture looked worn and aged. The room was dim, lighted only by gas lamps along the wall. On a chaise longue, one of a cluster of seats, a black haired man was, well, _lounging_. Altogether longer than the other men, he was absolutely _white,_ almost luminous in the weak yellow light. The impression was heightened by the stark white shirt under his sharp black suit, accented by a red silk tie. He put Tony on edge immediately.

"Anthony, it's good to finally meet you." The man had that same strange accent as the woman, but it was fully realised, since it lacked any Jersey inflection. It seemed like it came from another age. However his word choice was perfectly modern.

"I can't say the feeling's mutual," Tony shot back. "Who are you, and what do you want?"

Owen didn't seem to appreciate the banter. He caught Tony's shoulder in a crushing grip and forced the genius to his knees beside the chaise longue. Tony swore softly, biting back a groan.

"Owen," the man said with soft reproach, "there's no need for this violence. Anthony will understand very soon, and once he's seen the truth, he'll learn to keep his smart mouth in check." The certainty in the man's voice made Tony stifle a shiver.

"What makes you so sure?"

The man smiled and his teeth were pointed and sharp and brilliant against his pale pink lips. "Look into my eyes. Do you see any trace of a lie?" Tony didn't want to, fought it with every fibre of his being. That woman had made him sleep just by looking at him and making a suggestion. What could this man do with a look and a demand? _They were coming. He just had to stay strong. Just until they came for him._ Owen tensed his fingers around Tony's shoulder again and he felt the joint shift under the pressure. He felt nails puncture his skin. Clenching his jaw, Tony screwed his eyes shut against the pain, still only sharp and finite. _There'd been worse. There would be worse. He could take it._

And then he _squeezed_. Tony's shoulder, _the same one he tore on a mission just a few months ago,_ gave violently. The pain exploded across his consciousness, blurring the edges of the blackness to white. His involuntarily popped open and he screamed.

The man reached out and used one ice cold finger to tip Tony's face up. "My eyes, Anthony." They eyes were flat, blackish brown, intense and so self-assured… And just like that, Tony's body was not his own. His limbs relaxed and the pain died down from a nuclear blast to a vague heat in a nanosecond. "That's quite enough, Owen. Leave us."

The man sat up straight, moving to perch on the edge as Owen bowed and retreated to the hall. Leaning forward, the super-creepy leader reached out and swiped a finger, covering it in the blood now dripping down Tony's arm, soaking through the black t-shirt. Tony's eyes followed the blood, watching the man lap up the crimson. Transfixed by the little sigh of pleasure that escaped him, by the subtle way his teeth seemed to lengthen.

A scream works its way up Tony's throat and got trapped there, choking him, because his mouth wasn't under his control anymore.

_A vampire._

"Correct." The man smiled.

_He was so fucked._

* * *

The next thing Tony knew, he was lying in a bed much nicer than the one he'd been left in before. Still limp and paralysed, prone on a black silk coverlet. The light was dim here as well, those same Victorian gas lamps lining the wall. "You've been chosen for a wonderful gift, Anthony." The man came in from the next room rolling up his shirt sleeves, suit jacket and tie now gone.

_They're coming. Soon, they'll be here soon._

"Perhaps, but you won't live long enough to see that." The man smiled with his sharp teeth and lay down beside Tony, on his side to better face him. "We'll begin now," and he leaned over, brushing back a loose strand of Tony's hair. "You know, you taste like that whiskey you love so much. Smooth and refined. And you're all mine."

_No, this can't—_

There was a gentle kiss on his throat to the soft skin over his fluttering pulse. There was an instant of disbelief, suspended between that tender kiss and the brutal slice of fang into his flesh. Tony thinks of Steve and prayed that he won't feel guilty about being too late. Prayed that Bruce would stay at the Tower that he once admitted felt like home. He prayed that Natasha would understand what to do with the instructions he'd asked JARVIS to relay in case something happened. That Clint would find the bow Tony made him and keep it, both because it was the best bow ever built and he secretly considered Tony a good friend. He prayed that Thor and Jane would stay together forever and that true love really would conquer all. And he prayed that Coulson would be there when he passed, because he owed the man so much, had so much he needed to say.

It was cold and the man's hands on his arms were growing warm. He was so tired, he'd never felt so tired before. The sleepiness that plucked at him was heavier than mere restfulness. It was death settling over him in a thick blanket. His heart and the arc reactor were intertwined in a way science couldn't really explain. In this instance it wound down as his heart slowed, light fading the way it did when Phil had died.

A part of him, more than just his physical body, was dying. He had failed them. And his failure crushed him down, far heavier than the man pressing down on his chest. When his breath was barely a shallow gasp, the man pulled away with a gasp of his own. "Ambrosia," he panted, but Tony was deaf to everything except his own heart, blind as he began to fall.

Something salt-wet splashed against his dry tongue. It tasted of copper and lead and it was somehow the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. More drops fall, until a steady stream filled his mouth, smearing his lips. Tony drank in huge gulps. The fluid was liquid heat, searing down his throat to kindle in his belly, reaching out to fill his limbs with warmth. It wasn't life, he realised too late. It was his own blood, stripped of all vitality, replaced with something ancient and black. Teeth sank into his throat again, and the warm was draining away.

Time blurred from there, that endless back-and-forth flow of blood and death. A river of red, black flames licking its frozen surface. When the sleep came for him that final time, it was the death-sleep. And Tony welcomed it, a blessed reprieve from the searing heat and the devastating cold.

_I'm sorry,_ he whispered to the darkness, the man already sleeping beside him. _Everyone, I'm so, so sorry._

And he slept.

* * *

It was dark. But since his eyes were closed, that's to be expected. There were scratchy hospital sheets tucked up under his arms, a thin cotton gown around his body. A hospital then.

Something was moving in the darkness. Someone, it was a man, there was something in the scent that was all _male_. He was pacing nearby, just past the foot of the bed. Tony was acutely aware of it. Two feet in boots, pacing on linoleum. The barest trace of a limp, just a dragging in the far—no, left—step. There was the trace of blood in the air. Already dried and caked, not yet washed away. There was breathing, long and deep, interrupted by a hiccup now and then as if the man was still recovering from tears. There was the smell of soap on warm skin, salt from the suspect tears, but no cologne.

There was an IV in his arm, and a sterile tang on his tongue as he tried to speak: "Steve, are you crying?" Even Tony was shocked by how wrecked he sounded.

"Tony?!" And Steve collapsed into a plastic chair beside his bed as Tony opened his eyes. Both of his hands taking Tony by the shoulders (and oh look at that, they was absolutely fine). He shook Tony a little in disbelief, before going in for an all-out hug. "Oh God, Tony!" Steve _had_ been crying—his eyes were red and his cheeks were a little wet. He was wearing a rumpled blue plaid shirt and dark jeans that might have passed for slacks. "They said you were dead." He said in a hushed tone as he pulled away, wiping at his eyes. "Everything says so." He waved at the heart monitor beside them, silent. He sniffled. "How are you… alive?"

"Oh help me up, will you?" Tony groaned, "And we'll have to work this out together, because I have no idea."

That startled a little laugh out of Steve as he played with the switches on the side of the bed until Tony was sitting up comfortably. He even moved some pillows around, helping to prop the billionaire up. While Tony squirmed around in his uncomfortable hospital clothes, Steve took out his phone and sent a quick text, tucking it back into his pocket before Tony could read it.

Once he was a little more comfortable, Steve sighed. "Do you remember anything about what happened?" he asked in a small voice and Tony could just hear the guilt, the pain in his voice.

His blood ran cold. "Steve, you have to promise me something. Before I say anything, I need you to promise you won't feel guilty. No one could have known it was going to happen, and if SHIELD did, that's on them. I'm sure you came as soon as you could, right?" He gave Steve the 'I-know-how-you-are' raised eyebrow look and Steve nodded slightly. "See? That's all I could have asked for. Promise me, and I'll tell you everything I remember."

"Tony…"

"Nope, no promise, no epic death-defying tales."

Steve huffed. "I promise to try, Tony."

"Promise to try what, Cap'?"

They both jumped, turning to see Clint and Natasha standing in the doorway, both still in mission-gear. It was Clint who had spoken and was the one to claim a seat at the foot of the bed. His quiver was still slung over his shoulder.

"It's good to see you alive, Stark." Natasha said in her soft way, but the tiny quirk of her lips conveyed the happiness Tony needed to see.

"I'm thinking it's pretty great being alive…-ish. Alive-ish. I was just about to explain to the good Capitan here that—"

"Tony!" Pepper dropped her bag in the doorway and rushed to the bed, capturing Tony in a tight hug. "Oh my god, I thought we'd lost you," she whispered against his ear, "Don't ever do that to us again."

When she finally released him, Tony grinned at her. "Are you implying it was my idea?"

Pepper clicked her tongue and smiled. "You know what I mean, you… you jerk."

There was _tap-tap_ at the door and the group turned as one to behold Bruce smiling at them, Thor behind his left shoulder and Rhodey behind his right. They came in at Tony's wave. "We thought we'd flown in for a funeral," Rhodey said, nudging Pepper into sitting beside Tony on the bed so he could pat Tony on the shoulder.

"Well you know I hate to disappoint, but here we are." Tony smiled at everyone gathered around his bed and sudden realised how ridiculously lucky he was.

"You were trying to tell Steve something?" Clint prompted when Tony went silent.

"Oh, yeah," he blinked a few times and looked around the group again, all were watching him expectantly. How the _hell_ was he going to get them to believe this?

"Well I guess the simplest way to say it is I think they were vampires. And now I think I'm one too."

* * *

**Any reviews for this chapter should be posted to 'SomethingIDontKnow' via PM. It's her work, after all. **

**Thanks! **

**~ L. **


	2. Chapter 2

**And now to my contribution! I am very excited to see how this plays out. **

**Disclaimer: I only own the plot (from now on) and any OCs you don't recognise from the previous chapter. **

**Warnings: Swearing. **

* * *

The room was completely silent for a single long moment, before Pepper finally spoke. "We were hoping you wouldn't say that."

Tony felt the dread well up like a tide "Why?" he managed to ask.

"Because of how we found you—of the nature of your kidnappers," Steve said.

"How did you find me?" Tony interrupted. "Was SHIELD involved? Did they know I was being targeted?" it was only after that final question that he realised how silly it sounded. Of course he was being targeted—they all were, and by half a dozen serious threats at any given time.

"No one knew that these people were targeting you," Natasha spoke up, the de facto spokesperson for SHIELD in Fury's absence. "And it was JARVIS who not only found you, but also alerted us to your abduction after you failed to return within twelve hours to manually update a component of your security system. It took us about twenty hours to get to New York and another two days to actually retrace what had happened and find out where you were. JARVIS could only track you so far before human labour became necessary."

Oh sweet irony… Tony almost howled at the blow his ego and reputation would suffer from this! "I'll be reprogramming him before he has time to even predict the outcome," Tony groaned, sagging back against the pillows. Only he would create the world's most advanced A.I. and fail to have it recognise abduction scenarios that involved no violence. At least that satellite hack was worth it, for JARVIS had doubtlessly backtracked through countless data streams to not only find, but subsequently track the vehicle that Tony had been taken away in.

"And what about when you got there?" Tony asked, having not seen much of the house he'd been imprisoned in during his stay.

"It took us all of three hours to get there, a semi-derelict old manor outside the town of Cutler, Maine." Clint said, taking up the story. "From what we can tell they must have snatched you as soon as it was dark enough to travel and then driven through the night to get you back to their lair."

"Then what happened?"

"We stormed the place," Clint said. "Well, 'Tasha, Steve and I did. Then Bruce got startled by one of them attacking the quinjet and went a bit berserk when they tried to attack him. Luckily he exited 'jet before he went green or we'd still be in Maine."

"Meanwhile Pepper was cancelling all your appointments and I kept SHIELD off your back," Rhodey said, sounding proud of himself. "Even drafted in one of Thor's friends to help answer calls."

"What?" Tony shuddered at the very idea of an Asgardian wreaking havoc in the Tower.

His old friend waved a hand dismissively. "Relax man, it was Thor's girlfriend's assistant—Darcy Lewis. She's got clearance and despite the attitude and backtalk that would even impress you, she's a good girl."

"So you guys busted me out of there after fighting off at least five vampires…" Tony said. "No casualties by the look of it."

"We were lucky and caught them by surprise," Natasha said, never one to mince her words. "I'm pretty sure the Hulk was particularly alarming. We did manage to kill one, however. Steve's shield hurled one onto a smashed beam and impaled it. So at least we know that they can be killed."

"Lovely," Tony grimaced. He was already feeling queasy and tired, so the extra mental image didn't help.

"After the others had fled, we searched the house until we found you. You… you were dead. Laid out on blood-soaked sheets and with your face and neck also smeared with the stuff. It was pretty nasty." Clint said, wrinkling his nose for effect. "Anyway, Steve slung you over his shoulder and we immediately brought you back to this ultra-private hospital that Pepper had arranged for in advance. They all still think you're dead by the way."

"I'll handle that," Natasha said suddenly. "There are poisons and medications that can mimic death for a brief amount of time. I'll just say that you were exposed to one of these toxins and will convalesce at your own residence where security is better."

"Flimsy, but good enough," Tony replied, nodding.

There was a pause and just as the quiet threatened to become awkward, Steve spoke up. "So what now?" There was something in the way he said it that made Tony's stomach turn over.

"I'll go talk to the doctors," Natasha said, and promptly exited the room.

"I have to go back to work," Rhodey said, looking regretful about it. "See you soon, Tony. And please stop putting our collective blood pressure through the roof." He patted Tony on the shoulder, nodded to everyone else and then left.

When no one said anything for a long moment, he sighed and dragged a hand over his face. "I'm starving, can someone get me a bag of O-positive? Preferably warmed through."

At the varying looks of horror and disgust from his friends, he actually managed a weak smile which quickly morphed into a bitter, self-deprecating grin. Pepper leapt off the bed, her body acting on instinct even as guilt scrawled itself across her face. Tony felt the sharp tips of his fangs poking at his lower lip and he quickly dropped the falsely sweet expression and stared down at his lap. He felt embarrassed now and overwhelmed by the enormity not only of the abduction, but also by the almost certainly permanent change that had been forced upon him.

With this bitter thought in mind, he resorted to the only thing he could think of: Get rid of them. "No seriously, a blood bag and a straw would be really great right now. You have no idea how tasty you all smell."

Unsurprisingly, it was Clint who reacted best to the remark. "Honestly Tony, I had no idea you also liked guys now." He sounded sarcastic and unamused, but the way he was standing told Tony's newly sharpened senses that he was poised to attack or run any second.

"Ha, you're just lucky I like you all so much. But this does seem like a buffet of volunteers," he half-lied.

"Well then I suppose we should remove the temptation," Steve declared, his jaw set but his eyes wounded as he shepherded the others out. But Bruce, amazingly, winked at Tony before he closed the door, leaving the billionaire alone with his thoughts.

What did that mean?

He tried to move, but every muscle felt like it was on the verge of cramping up. His head was thick and heavy and his tongue felt like sandpaper. He glanced at the IV line and carefully removed it, unsurprised to see the tiny hole in his arm disappear almost immediately. He could only hope that Natasha and Barton would continue to refrain from sharing this revelation with Fury just yet. Something told him that the Director of SHIELD would be more inclined to turn him into a test subject than allow him any degree of trust or dignity in this appalling situation.

Just as he was contemplating trying to get out of bed, the door opened and Bruce reappeared with a paper shopping bag under one arm.

"I volunteered to watch you, since I've got the best natural defence if you tried anything," he said softly, handing Tony the bag before sitting in the chair Steve had been using.

"What are they doing now? Telling Fury? Preparing the stakes?"

"Actually no," Bruce said and smiled slightly at Tony's incredulous expression. "Yeah, I was surprised too. But Steve and I argued that Fury would only make things worse if he knew you were a member of the undead."

Tony looked inside the bag and saw a bag of blood attached to an IV line.

"I got it from the donation wing, five hundred millilitres of fresh human blood," Bruce said. "I didn't want to experiment with anticoagulants just yet, in case you can't handle them."

"Bruce, did I ever tell you how much you mean to me?" Tony said jokingly, despite being genuinely touched by this gesture.

"Save it for when we have witnesses," Bruce shot back. "Now drink up—we don't have much time before the others come back to tell you their plan."

"What are they, my carers?" Tony snorted, fiddling with the tube and not meeting Bruce's eyes.

"No, we're your friends. We're just trying to figure out how we can help you."

"Whatever." He unscrewed one of the caps and took a cautious sip. It wasn't warm, but the moment it spread across his tongue, Tony felt his fangs lengthen once more. Luckily they weren't ridiculously long, and he was able to gulp the blood down without spilling a drop. It tasted better than the finest whisky, despite having the same metallic saltiness as before. It was more that his reaction to it had changed. He couldn't get enough of it. Half the bag was gone before he noticed Bruce's keen stare. He stopped and licked his lips.

"Please tell me I'm not sparkling," he dead-panned, slurring a little around his new teeth. He vowed to speak more carefully to prevent himself from sounding like he was wearing loose dentures.

Bruce snorted. "No, no. I was just curious to see if you were going to bite into the bag directly that's all."

"It'd make one hell of a mess." Tony said. As he spoke he realised that he felt sated. Almost uncomfortably full, in fact. His headache had gone away now, and his muscles were starting to feel a little better too. He replaced the cap on the blood bag and handed it back to Bruce who carefully squeezed the excess air out of it before putting it back in the bag.

"What now?"

"I guess we wait for the others," Bruce said. "With what's happened… I suppose we'll have to rethink things."

"There is no 'we' in this situation. _I _have to rethink things. I have to figure out what my life is going to be like from now on. None of you have to bother yourselves with it." Tony said defensively. He didn't want their pity or their suspicion.

"Tony don't be an ass, we're probably the only people who can help you right now."

Before Tony could launch a counter-attack, the door opened again and the others reappeared once more. Well, except for Pepper. Where had she gone? Tony felt the panic begin to rise in his chest at the thought of her leaving him…

"Where's Pepper?" he asked, proud that his voice was not only stronger but calm and light too.

"She's gone off to have UV filter windows and completely light-proof blinds installed in Stark Mansion," Steve replied. "It's probably best if you get out of the city while you adjust."

"Thanks dad, I'm so pleased you've all planned things for me—I'm completely helpless right now, after all," Tony shot back. He felt so angry at their patronising behaviour. He did not have brain-damage.

"No one's trying to control you, Tony," Clint sighed. "We just want to help keep your secret until we've figured out what to do. Natasha's already told Fury that you're sick and need lots of bed rest."

"Sick?"

"The flu with additional bronchitis." Clint said.

"What?" Tony was so surprised by the banality of it that he was forced to laugh a little.

"Stranger things have happened. Besides, Fury's already heard about what kind of dump we rescued you from, he'll probably send you some eucalyptus balm in the post." Clint shrugged. "Seriously, I got a bronchial infection with extra complications on a mission once, sick as a pig for five weeks in the middle of nowhere and with only Agent Kurylenko for company. I swear his attempts at nursing nearly finished me off." He shuddered at the memory.

Steve then forced the conversation back on track by describing how they were going to get Tony to his family home without exposing him to either sunlight or the press. They'd hire a van, stuff him in the back at night and drive to mansion with Clint—the least recognisable of them all—at the wheel. Steve would put on a proper motorcycle helmet to hide his identity and follow as escort on his bike, while the others either rode with Tony and Clint or waited for them at the mansion. He was vaguely impressed by the simplicity of the scheme they had laid out, but was vaguely disappointed that there was less panache.

"When?" he said, once they had made a few adjustments to the route Clint would take.

"I'd say tomorrow, we can't keep the doctors away forever. And if you're here Fury's bound to try to talk to you sooner or later. At least we can keep him out of the mansion," Rhodey said. He liked and respected Nick Fury, but where Tony was concerned Rhodey would defend his friend from almost anyone—Pepper being the obvious exception to this rule.

"What about the windows? They won't be finished so soon," Tony asked.

"We can stuff you in the underground cinema you had installed in the empty wine cellar, and you can come up when the sun's gone down." Clint said. "It's not like we want you shut away where you can't annoy anyone," the teasing edge was in his voice, and Tony appreciated the effort at levity.

"It's like you're my pack of Renfields, only you're actually efficient. You're all still crazy though," he added, not knowing if he truly deserved such friends.

* * *

The move was swift and uneventful, but Tony was wary of his friends and of himself. Of what he now was. He felt… lost. Like he never had before. Not even JARVIS' greeting as he entered the mansion was enough to drag him fully from his reverie. He had no idea what his limitations were, or how to safely test them—the idea of wrecking the mansion held some appeal to the not-quite-dead inner man-child, but he held back. He hadn't even been dead for a week yet. That thought alone made him pause.

Since when had he become so conscientious? Just that horrifying idea made him want to start a particularly explosive series of experiments. But he had no idea how flammable he was now—would he go up like a piece of paper?

All the conflicting pop culture lore was driving him mad. And since vampires weren't supposed to exist, there was no way anything could be discounted just yet. His memories of 'the Master' were hazy and overshadowed with lingering horror and revulsion—how could he safely discover his limits? Could he trust the others with this sort of thing? Right now, he had no idea what to do… he needed to rest and quiet to figure things out.

That same night he had Clint and Steve move his bed down to the underground cinema while he compiled a long list of the electronics he wanted Bruce to bring down to his 'lair'. It was near dawn by the time he'd finished it—but as he handed it to Bruce he suddenly felt an overwhelming tiredness and, dizzy, he collapsed.

"Tony!" Bruce crouched by his side. "What's wrong?"

Tony gave an almighty yawn and pillowed his head on an arm. "Tired…" he mumbled. "I'm off to bed." He tried to push himself up, but had no strength in his arms anymore. "Can someone get me a blanket…?" he passed out before he could even finish the sentence.

Bruce stared down at his friend for a moment and realised that there was no way of knowing if Tony was properly dead, or still undead and merely resting. He glanced at his watch and realised that it was the morning. Did this mean that vampires fell asleep at the sun's rising? He was as lost as everyone else in this matter. So he called out for Clint and they dragged the vampire back down the stairs to the bed and shut him inside, leaving a desk lamp on so that Tony didn't panic upon waking up.

If he woke up.

They exchanged worried looks before returning to their own activities—Clint to SHIELD and Bruce to bed. He had a feeling he'd be nocturnal before too long.

* * *

Meanwhile in the state of Maine, having returned to the house which members of the Avengers had stormed, the vampire who turned Tony Stark was in a towering rage. He had summoned his followers to him and would soon have his entire coven of twenty-eight vampires amassed under one roof.

"I want him returned to me!" he screamed at his lieutenants from his chair behind the weathered oak desk. A candelabra on the nearby piano was the only illumination in the room—not that any of the vampires present needed it, but it added flair to their enterprise. "How _dare_ they take him? Those brutish mortals have no idea what they have done!"

Owen, cringing in fear, mumbled something under his breath.

His master whipped round to glare at his subordinate. "What did you say?" he hissed.

"Forgive me, sir. I was just talking to myself." Owen said, adopting the straight and rigid pose of a soldier at attention.

"And perhaps you would like to share it with us all?" the Master growled. It was not a request.

"I—I was only wondering what… your enemies will do when they discover this," Owen said, his voice barely above a whisper. His words rang like a thunderclap through the room's sudden absolute silence.

"They know my power—they know my lineage! They will not dare do anything at all," the Master replied. "They will cower in awe at my latest acquisition."

"What about…?" Owen broke off to swallow before trying again. "What about Tolvay?"

The Master threw back his head and cackled. "She is a nothing. She has no followers—no sire, no blood ties or true alliances. Tolvay hasn't even a single fledgling to call. She only has her 'friends and acquaintances'. Ridiculous."

The three remaining subordinates exchanged wary glances.

Now Tiffany, the only woman in the room, spoke up. "But sir, remember what she did after you turned Kale? And what she promised she would do if she ever again heard of you…"

But the Master laughed derisively. "Let her come, I am so much more than she is," he sneered. "I am an ancient and know what strength is in my blood. She must rely on trickery and manipulation to get her way. The last time she visited I recall we laughed her out of the manor."

But Owen looked unsure, remembering their last encounter rather differently.

* * *

**So what do you think? Good? Bad? A betrayal of the premise? Let me know in a review! **

**~ L. **


	3. Chapter 3

**And Chapter 3! I felt that you darling readers deserved all of what I have written so far, since I cannot predict when I'll be updating my fics. **

**Disclaimers: None of the recognisable canon characters, nor the vampires from Chapter One belong to me. All other OCs and the plot are my creation. **

**Warnings: Nothing serious. Possible swearing and creepy conversations. **

* * *

Tony awoke on the bed, there was no sleepiness or disorientation. One minute there was nothing, the next he was sitting up and looking around. Like someone had flicked a switch in his head. Off—_click—_on.

Bizarre.

He got up and stretched, looking about him. The room was lit only by a lamp on his work desk, and yet Tony suspected he didn't need it to see everything around him. Now that was an experiment he could conduct alone. Crossing to the desk he switched it off and looked about. Everything was as it had been before—only now the room lacked the yellow glow and deep shadows but was uniformly visible. Almost like he was seeing in infra-red, but with colour. Muted, yes, but there. He walked about the room, climbing up the stairs and even writing down some simple equations on a scrap of paper. When he turned the light back on, he saw that everything was as it had been a second ago.

"Neat," he said.

A knocking at the door startled him so much he actually jumped back.

"Tony?" the muffled voice of Steve from beyond. "I've got you some more… food." He said after a long moment.

Tony, not trusting himself with his friends, swallowed and spoke. "Just leave it at the door, I'll get it in a second."

"Tony, there's things we need to talk about. And Bruce has all your stuff here too."

"Fine, fine. Just… not now, okay?" Tony gritted his teeth and fought to keep himself still. "What time is it?"

"Six pm. We gave you a bit of extra time to wake up."

"Great," Tony muttered to himself, then raised his voice. "Okay, thanks. Uh… just leave the blood there and give me some time. I need a shower too, so I'll be up in a second anyway."

"Alright, is an hour enough time?"

"Sure," Tony said, mollified by how accommodating everyone was being. Perhaps they thought he was still injured in some way. Speaking of injuries… he glanced down at the arc reactor in his chest and felt the urge to sigh, even though he probably didn't need to breathe. What would become of this? He needed it if he wanted to power the Iron Man suits, but that didn't mean it had to sit in his chest. On the other hand if it stayed where it was then only Tony could use the suits, and that was a big bonus, considering various organisations' designs on his creation. He could guard the technology by keeping it buried (literally).

After a long moment, he walked up the steps and opened the door to see the same paper bag waiting for him. He looked inside and saw a fresh, full bag of blood. Where had that come from? Tony picked it up and walked through the mansion to his usual bedroom and ensuite, where he showered and changed into jeans and a plain t-shirt.

He eyed the blood bag and after a long moment, unscrewed the cap and took a sip. Cold, almost as bad as cold coffee had been. He resolved to heat the bag in a pot of hot water, and see what that did for the experience. So he set off for the kitchen, his bare feet whispering over the floor as he skipped down steps and padded through corridors.

Upon reaching the kitchen, he paused in the doorway. Steve, Bruce and Pepper were sitting with their backs to him at the island unit. Pepper had a glass of wine in her hand, while the two men were nursing different non-alcoholic beverages. Tony sniffed the air and surmised that it was Steve who was having the orange juice, and Bruce who was indulging in the Coca-Cola.

"That stuff will rot your teeth, Bruce," he said as he strolled into the room, as if he hadn't been spying on them. They looked surprised at his smooth entrance, but Tony tried not to react. He was aware that they had no idea how to behave around him—and he didn't want to make it any more awkward than it already was.

"Good evening, Tony," Pepper said, smiling at him as he flicked the kettle on.

"Hey Pep'," he said, offering a small close-lipped smile in return. "It's up to you guys to enjoy all my alcohol now."

"Don't speak too soon—we have no idea what your limits are yet," Steve said. He was probably trying to be reassuring in saying that, but it just made Tony feel vulnerable and defensive. Did they want to know his weaknesses? Or was he just being paranoid?

"Mm," he managed, putting the blood bag in a pan and setting it on the counter.

"What are you doing?"

"Well, I meant it when I said that I wanted my food warmed through," Tony said, a little too much acid in his voice. He had no idea why he was so annoyed, but he was, damn it. And worse, it was obvious.

The kettle boiled and shut off, so Tony was given the perfect excuse to turn away from their discomfited expressions add a little cold water to the pan and pour hot water over the blood bag. As they waited in uncomfortable silence for several long, long moments, Tony finally spoke up. "So, you wanted to talk to me about something?"

"Oh! Yes, it's about the alterations." Pepper said, consulting her tablet.

"Alterations?"

"Well, to your schedule and to the mansion. I've already contracted for completely UV-proof glass to be installed in every window and door in your properties—that includes the Tower. There's also the… food… issue. I'm not entirely sure how we're going to deal with that yet. You've probably got enough for the week, if you have one bag a day." Pepper seemed hesitant to call it what it was, and that annoyed Tony. Annoyed and hurt him.

"And after that?"

"I don't know. We can't rob blood banks—people will start to notice."

"Like they'll notice I'm suddenly nocturnal and have fangs?" Tony said, his voice levelling into that bland tone of sarcasm that could cut through steel. "Or that I'm dead?"

"You're not dead, Tony." Steve said, frowning even as his eyes betrayed his anguish.

Tony fished the blood bag from the pan and shot them a grin that only a hungry vampire is capable of before unscrewing the cap and taking a big slurp of blood. Warmed through, it was absolutely delicious. His eyes actually fluttered slightly as he swallowed deeply. Again and again. When about half the contents were gone, he felt his stomach tighten and he stopped, recapping the bag and putting it back in the pan to stay warm. Then, remembering he had a point to make, he walked over to Bruce and grabbed the man's warm hand, lifting it to his own throat. "Do you feel a pulse, _doctor_?" he asked, leaning on the final word. "Do you?"

"No." Bruce pulled his hand away, his face carefully blank. "We knew this already Tony. You're undead."

"What does that even mean?" Tony exclaimed, backing away again to his side of the island unit. "Why are you all treating me like I've got a bomb strapped to me? I'm already dead, or undead, or whatever you want to call it. What's the worst that could happen now?"

"The worst would be that you die the sort of death you can't wake up from." Steve argued, getting to his feet. "Stop pushing us away, Tony."

Tony felt himself sag slightly. He knew that they only wanted to help, but since he was so utterly powerless, he resented their intrusion somewhat. Realising that during his internal scream, the silence had gone on too long, he straightened and looked away from them.

"I need some air." He snapped, and stormed out, ignoring the exclamations behind him even though he could hear them perfectly. Bursting out into the garden, he inhaled deeply and smelled a thousand scents on the freezing November air. Exhaust fumes, food, humans, concrete, smoke… He didn't feel the cold as before—aware of it, yes, but not hurt by it. In a t-shirt and bare feet he walked further into the garden, uncaring of all about him. He sat down on a stone bench and leaned forward on his elbows, head hanging low. The irritation served to distract him from the inner panic welling up each time he paused to consider what had happened to him.

What could he do?

* * *

"Hello?" a woman's voice, the accent crisply English.

"_It's Alfred," _said a man on the other end. _"You said you wanted news if our erstwhile friend did anything untoward." _

A sigh. "Last I heard, he was in the Americas."

"_And still is. Four days ago he had his lackeys abduct Anthony Stark and I suspect that the man was turned. Although since the Iron Man's friends rescued him almost immediately there is a possibility that 'the Master', as he now calls himself, did not have the time to actually do the deed." _

A pause.

"_I think you'll agree that this has gone on long enough," _Alfred added.

"Indeed it has. How do you find these things out so quickly, Alfie?" the woman said in mocking wonder.

"_You know perfectly well,"_ Alfred replied curtly. "_Now if you don't mind, it's dinner time and Rhona has made game stew."_

"Goodbye then. Please give my regards to your delightful family."

Time to leave Serbia.

* * *

Over the next week, Tony grew accustomed to being nocturnal. Steve and Bruce were staying in the mansion with him, which often left the newly born vampire frustrated. He felt trapped enough as it was, without having to consider others' feelings. They were too kind and accommodating, hypersensitive to his moods and giving him all the space he needed. And when he wanted to talk—about anything, everything—they were happy to sit with him and chat. The windows were now completely UV proof, and Tony could now walk through the house at any time of the day. He was initially cautious about this measure but quickly regained his usual confidence.

With UV proof windows already being installed in the Tower, Tony planned to move back into his preferred residence before Christmas. But for the time being he amused himself with engineering tinkerings and small projects. He tried to ignore the vampire thing, but every time he got hungry the realisation returned.

On that particular night, he was fiddling with a remote for the new electric doors when JARVIS alerted him to their visitor's presence.

"_Sir, there appears to be a young woman at the gates of the property. She has been pressing the intercom button for precisely three seconds. Would you like to speak to her, or shall I ask Dr Banner to do so in your stead?" _

"Nah it's okay—patch her through." Tony said, turning his attention to the CCTV live feed of a young woman in ripped narrow jeans and a black parka. She had a battered canvas rucksack with her and seemed unconcerned by her grand surroundings.

Tony pressed the intercom button and smiled. "Hello there," he drawled. "What can I do for you?"

The woman's eyes flicked up to the discreet camera, and Tony had the distinct impression that she could see him. He shrugged it off and waited for her to respond.

"_Actually, Mr Stark," _she said in a smooth British voice, "_it is more about what I can do for you_."

Normally that kind of offer would have been a not-so-subtle prelude to a blissful one night stand. But this woman didn't exude the 'easy-woman' vibe. Something was extremely off about this situation. From her battered plimsolls to her scraggly ash-blonde ponytail, she gave off the aura of casual sophistication that was at odds with her clothes and the neutral, expectant look in her eyes.

"And how exactly do you think you can help me?" he asked.

"I am an expert in the chronic condition you have recently been diagnosed with," the woman answered, her tone calm. "I am here to help."

"Ha, good one," Tony dead-panned, his brain racing. Who was this woman? How on earth did she—?

The woman flashed him a momentary grin—it was all the confirmation he really needed. He shut off the intercom. "JARVIS?"

"_Yes sir?" _

"Please inform Bruce of our guest and have him meet me in the lounge." Steve was out for the day, which was perhaps a blessing. He didn't like the idea of Steve being exposed to vampiric strength and savagery—at least Bruce could go green and Tony was dead already. At least, he thought he was.

"_Of course, sir." _

Tony was on his feet and out the door before the AI had finished the reply. He dashed up his room and changed into a clean t-shirt and jeans before making his way to the gate. The young woman was waiting for him. He looked at her, staring hard at every detail. She was not quite short and seemed to be in her early twenties, with ash blonde hair and clear hazel eyes. She was slim—not like Pepper's statuesque sleekness, nor Natasha's curvaceous athleticism—but in a narrow, lean sort of way. Like a ballet dancer, perhaps. Her jeans were a faded black and stone-washed, the black parka was old and plain, without any fake fur around the hood. Her skin was pale, but not luminously white like the other vampires. That didn't make any sense, but Tony didn't think his opening line should be to ask what make-up she wore. That would make the completely the wrong impression.

"Um… hi…" Tony said quietly, feeling apprehensive. Had he imagined it? This woman didn't appear to be anything like his kidnappers, but that didn't mean she was necessarily on his side.

"Mr Stark, good evening." She replied, stepping inside as the gate opened fractionally to let her in. "I am Eleanor Tolvay. Forgive me for my unannounced visit, I do not have a mobile."

"The pleasure is all mine," Tony replied, stepping aside and gesturing up to the mansion. "Shall we go inside?"

"That would be delightful," Eleanor said, smiling slightly as Tony led her through the mansion. She had failed the first test: the idea of vampires requiring invitation to enter dwellings. What he had said was a suggestion, but not an invitation. Not explicitly, anyway. Moreover, Eleanor didn't seem to observe the house she was walking through, nor did she pay Tony any particular attention. Nevertheless, Tony was acutely aware of her presence.

Bruce looked up at them when they entered and he smiled politely as introductions were made. Eleanor accepted the offer of a drink, choosing a glass of wine over whisky or the fruit juice that Bruce opted for. She declined a seat but bade the men to sit down, as if preparing to deliver a lecture. She shrugged off her parka—revealing a faded slogan t-shirt and a narrow, girlish figure.

"You are no doubt curious as to my identity and my motives for being here," she said, clasping her hands behind her back. She stood with the poise and stillness of a statue—which was rather creepy. "But you must understand, I am not used to sharing my secrets—any attempt to breach my privacy will be taken as an act of aggression and I will react accordingly." She paused and waited for their consent before continuing. "Mr Stark, you are aware of your new nature?"

Tony nodded. "I'm a vampire."

Eleanor nodded once. "That is correct. You have been inducted into a once noble bloodline that has since fallen into disrepute and not, I think, with your consent."

"Um, right." Tony said, wondering if there was a part of the story he'd missed.

"Tell me, how long were you the unwilling guest of the one you probably knew as 'the Master'?" Eleanor's face didn't betray a thing, but Tony suspected that she didn't consider the older vampire a friend.

"About three days. I wasn't told anything before I was…" he didn't know the correct term—all the pop culture references were either crude or melodramatic.

"Most of us like to say 'transformed' or 'turned'," Eleanor supplied gracefully. "Yet there are many ways of expressing the process. My personal favourite is 'born into darkness'—amusingly macabre and ultimately inaccurate." She actually smiled thinly before growing serious, her gaze slicing into him. "You are taking this very well. Is this due to pervading modern culture, or simply because you have exhausted all scientific possibilities for a reversal of the condition?"

"Probably both," Tony admitted. She sounded a bit like a doctor or psychiatrist.

Eleanor nodded and stooped to sip at her wine before straightening. "That makes this at once easier and more difficult," she said, as if admitting to some deadly weakness. "You have been forcibly taken from your vampiric creator—this is not usually the done thing amongst those of us who consider ourselves civilised. It is considered the duty of the creator to teach their fledgling. And as much as it grieves me to do so, I am here to pick up the pieces." Her face didn't reveal her feelings, but her tone had darkened considerably.

"Since 'it grieves you' so terribly, why did you come here?" Tony asked, annoyance bleeding into his tone. He liked to think he was pretty approachable. "Does this mean I'm in trouble? Is there some sort of fanged committee that is after my head?"

Eleanor shook her head. "We are in no way organised. Only age and bloodline distinguishes individuals. Luckily for you, your pedigree is good. However I presume you do not wish to seek out your maker for the necessary mentoring."

"Got that right," Tony said forcefully.

"Which is why I am here to offer my protection and guidance," Eleanor said, as if this was the obvious next step.

But the silence that met her declaration was deafening. Eventually Bruce spoke up. "Protection? So Tony _is_ in danger."

"If he doesn't find a teacher soon, he will be." Eleanor said. "And please believe me when I say that it is highly unlikely any other vampire will approach you with such a generous offer or such good intentions. If they contact you at all."

"And what's in it for you? A finder's fee?" Tony asked, suddenly aware that this vampire—while persuasive, charming and seemingly domesticated—may not have his best interests at heart. She may want his money and influence.

Eleanor actually chuckled, real mirth spreading across her face like a sunbeam warming one's skin. "Mr Stark I have lived long enough to not be swayed by celebrity or heroism. And while I may not be wealthy I can look after myself. My motives are my own, but for now they align with yours." She tilted her head slightly, considering him. "I appreciate your suspicion and the fact that I must seem very strange to you, but I mean you no harm. I simply wish to help you. Nor will I entangle you in my own affairs." She finally sat down on the couch across from Tony and Bruce, lounging back and swirling the wine in its glass as she stared at them over its paper-thin rim. Waiting.

Tony and Bruce both hesitated, sharing a loaded look.

After another moment, Bruce spoke up. "What sort of danger would Tony be in if he refused your offer?"

Eleanor blinked slowly, as if this was a particularly dense question. "Since he does not know the first thing about his new state, let alone the rules of survival, Mr Stark would be lucky to live a year before he is killed."

"Who would want me dead?" Tony asked.

"Well apart from your personal and professional enemies, there are also other vampires, human authorities and of course your own friends."

"My friends?" Tony said sharply.

Eleanor gave him a deeply cynical look. "Please Mr Stark, do not insult my intelligence. Your situation will place immense moral and emotional strain on your friends. Think about it: you are now a ferocious death-bringer whose sole natural instinct is to devour human beings." She straightened and leaned forward, eyes starting to gleam with a strange intensity. "And I can guarantee that you will."

"But—" Tony protested.

"You _will."_ Eleanor repeated, her voice deepening slightly. And there was something truly frightening in her face as her burning gaze bore into them. And then she was on her feet in a flash—so unnaturally fast that they didn't catch her movement. It was a tiny display of power, but it was enough to make both men flinch. "I shall return in two days' time to receive your answer, thank you for the wine." She put her parka back on, picked up her bag and headed for the door. Tony hastened to escort her out, Bruce trailing in his wake.

After a brief, formal goodbye at the gate, Eleanor turned away and marched off into the night.

* * *

**Well, what will Tony's answer be? Should he trust Eleanor? Will he kill someone? **

**Feedback fuels productivity and all suggestions welcomed. **

**~ L. **


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